


Baked

by Cat_Latin



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Cake or Death Challenge, M/M, McShep Awards Nominee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Latin/pseuds/Cat_Latin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  "So," Sheppard began brightly, looking up at Death. "I'll bet the Ascended really piss you off."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baked

**Author's Note:**

>   Extreme silliness, written for the Cake or Death challenge at [](http://sga-flashfic.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://sga-flashfic.livejournal.com/)**sga_flashfic**

On an otherwise unremarkable Thursday afternoon in Atlantis, three figures appeared out of nowhere.  This was not the work of a transporter, either Ancient or Asgard.  They were simply there, where a second earlier they were _not._ The three of them stood, or rather hovered, in front of the inactive Stargate, and appeared to be hooded gray robes draped over...nothing.

“They‘re not giving off any life signs,” Chuck observed quietly.  With reflexes borne of practice, he ducked away from the console as McKay barreled over to shove him out of the way to see for himself.  The rest of the control room just stared. 

The Marines on duty had their P-90s trained on the apparitions because it seemed the thing to do.

Elizabeth Weir, leader of the Atlantis expedition, was called from a meeting to address the situation. She took in this new level of weirdness, straightened her shoulders, put on her best diplomat‘s face and said, “I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage.”

They gray things replied, being an inferior life form, that is obvious.

No one precisely heard it; the message seemed to transmit itself directly to everyone's brains.  Even without sound, the disdain around the word ’life’ was unmistakable.  

Weir gritted her teeth and pressed on.  "Who are you, and what can we do for you?"

You may refer to us as the Auditors, the gray things said, again, without actually saying.  There is nothing you can do for us.  Your existence is an inconvenience to us.  We are here to restore order.  We are especially displeased with the one called McKay, for destroying five-sixths of a solar system.

"Oh for--I'm going to be paying for that forever," Rodney muttered.  "It was devoid of life!"

Precisely.  It was perfect.  We take exception to that level of interference.  We regret that we are not able to immediately punish you.  We must follow The Rules.  (Again, disdain.)  We issue a challenge.  If you are able to create a weapon that could destroy us, yet leave your species alive, we will cease all interference.

The one called McKay is assigned this task, the Auditors went on.  He has twenty four hours.  He is allowed to choose an assistant.

Rodney opened and closed his mouth a few times and looked around the control room for help.  His eyes landed on the military commander of Atlantis, who'd been standing around uselessly since the whole thing started.  No one had even tried to shoot the gray things yet, and to hell with the universe, this was _Rodney's_ safety on the line.

"Sheppard--" Rodney began, and the world turned white.

*

They were in a lab.  Not just any lab, but the lab of all Rodney's fevered dreams.  It featured equipment he'd never think to requisition for, because the merry sound of a government laughing at you was just dispiriting.  It contained devices he'd only hypothesized.  It had a full data bank of all the information he could ever use to dissect and eliminate this new threat known as the Auditors.

And it contained Sheppard, currently scratching his head and looking utterly confounded.  The room was a bit stuffy.  Maybe Rodney could use him to prop the door.

"You know, I was just looking to you for help, I wasn't choosing...if I had a choice it would have been Zelenka, or better yet, Carter.  I'm sure these Auditors have freaky powers of manipulation and intimidation that can span galaxies."

Nothing focused Sheppard like McKay's bitching.  "Shut up, Rodney.  We have a problem to solve.  It's not a new one; just a variation on a theme.  Save the universe before we all get killed."  When Rodney just glared at him, Sheppard gripped his arms and shook him a little.  "C'mon, McKay, you know this song.  Hum along!"

Twelve hours, and fourteen almost fool-proof plans later, they had nothing.  Sheppard was getting punchy.

"No, Colonel, we cannot build a containment device like the one they used in Ghostbusters!"  Rodney put his head down on the workbench.  "We need something that disintegrates a thing from the atomic level-outward, but fixed to _their_ particular molecular signature--"

"Rodney, they _have_ no molecular signature."

"That's impossible!  These are not ghosts and demons we're dealing with here.  I haven't gone crazy enough yet to believe that.  Just because nothing _reads_ them as alive doesn't mean..."

Rodney's voice trailed off.  Someone else had joined them in the lab, another cowled figure, darker than the others, and much taller, presumably to check on their progress.

"Great, another one!" Rodney said.  "I suppose _black_ is the new gray--wait.  I know you."

"Yeah, me too," Sheppard murmured.

The black-clad figure had been glimpsed by both of them in the infirmary, in the puddlejumpers and once, memorably, in the event horizon between worlds.

Death produced two hourglasses from the depths of his robe and peered at them.  Both seemed to be made of the state-of-the art materials the Ancients used in their technology, and both were scarred with hasty soldering, patched and put back together many times over.  Death replaced them before either man could gauge how much sand he had left, and regarded them as reproachfully as a walking skeleton could.

With a voice like the hammer-strike of a thousand coffin nails, Death said, YOU ARE GOING ABOUT THIS THE WRONG WAY.

Another flash of white, and the lab became a kitchen.

Rodney looked around the room, which was the sharp, sexy, state-of-the-art culinary version of the lab and said, "I suppose you couldn't give us a hint."

VERY WELL.  CAKE OR...ME.

Rodney watched with deadly calm as a tiny figure marched across the marble counter dragging a mixing bowl twice its size.  It appeared to be the animated skeleton of a rat.  It was wearing a black robe covered by an apron that proclaimed, “Kiss the Chef.”  It stood to attention in front of Rodney, radiating helpfulness.

MCKAY IS ONLY ALLOWED ONE ASSISTANT, Death informed him, pointing at Sheppard. 

SQUEAK.  The Death of Rats skulked away, dejected.

*

Rodney melted chocolate and scowled, two things he never thought he'd do at once.  Sheppard was chopping raspberries and making small talk with an anthropomorphic representation of something Rodney would _never_ be ready for.

"So," Sheppard began brightly, looking up at Death. "I'll bet the Ascended really piss you off."  Death just shrugged and regarded the end of his scythe.  THEY'RE JUST PROLONGING THE INEVITABLE.

"Huh.  Hey, why are you helping us anyway?  You must really hate these Auditor guys."

But Death only replied, BAKE, MORTALS, AS IF YOUR LIVES DEPENDED ON IT.

*

"Hah!" Rodney put on the finishing touches and the three of them, two human, one skeletal, studied the results. 

Then Death said, IT IS TIME.

The kitchen became an arena.  The infinite seating was filled with gray shapes.  McKay, Sheppard and Death stood at the center with a small covered object on a table.  They were met by a contingent of Auditors.

Your decision to sponsor these creatures will be your undoing, they informed Death, who just gave another of his eloquent shrugs. 

They transferred their attention to the table.

Your weapon, your terms.  All part of The Rules.  We are confident that we are indestructible.  What is this weapon?

Rodney uncovered it with a flourish.  "Triple chocolate raspberry ganache.  Rich, decadent chocolate cake, filled with two layers of creamy whipped chocolate ganache and one layer of purest raspberry. Then chocolate ganache is poured over the top, to create a velvety finish, and we garnish with fresh raspberries for this, the most delectable cake in the galaxy."

Sheppard flicked his eyes to Death's glowing blue sockets, and he imagined Death winked.  "But in order to fully appreciate its devastation, one of you must assume human form.  Taste buds, and all that, you know?"

The air shimmered a bit, and one of the gray forms became a man.  A grayish-pale copy of a man, but one, nevertheless, possessed of a face with the kind of symmetry you never find in nature.  He might as well have had a barcode stamped on his forehead. 

The man took a moment to find his breath, then his voice, and said, “You plan to delete us with a layered mass of a baked food substance? You realize, if you’ve poisoned it, you’ll die as well?”

“Have you ever tasted my cake?” Rodney demanded.  “Have you ever tasted _anything?_ ”

The man glared at him and frowned at the cake.  He scooped up a fingerful and hesitantly placed it in his mouth.  Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he exploded into fine fragments. 

THEY CAN’T GET USED TO HAVING SENSES, Death remarked smugly.

Rodney took up some of the chocolaty dessert and held it out for Sheppard.  “It’s time you showed these people how death-defying you can be.  No offense,” he added, for the benefit of their sponsor.

NONE TAKEN.

Sheppard ate and licked and sucked the cake off of Rodney’s fingers with extreme attention to detail.  Rodney grinned and took up a fistful and shoved it in his own mouth.  Neither of them died.

There must be some trick, the Auditors said, and a few more generic people appeared before them, tasted the cake, and promptly expired.

Death nodded his satisfaction and looked at McKay and Sheppard.  They were still eating the cake, but appeared to be using each other's mouths and bodies as the dining surface.  This was causing even the non-corporeal Auditors to pop out of existence.

AH, CREATIVITY.  It was not one of Death's talents, but he had learned to admire it in others.  I'LL JUST LEAVE YOU TO IT THEN, he said as the mortals moved the proceedings to the arena floor, and Auditors all over began exploding like a virulent popcorn machine.  McKay was delicately eating a raspberry from his assistant's navel.

And later there was rejoicing, and a good bit of celebration, and McKay, Sheppard and a few surviving Auditors lived on to screw with the universe another day.


End file.
